


King Of The Forest

by catness



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness





	King Of The Forest

It's one of those days.

I watch a lone tourist sitting by the forest lake - once, a beautiful little oasis of cool crystal-clear water, now foul and contaminated like a city sewer. The picnic has been successful, seeing from the number of empty bottles scattered around the lakeside. 

The girl entertains herself by poking the muddy water with a branch ripped from a nearby willow - yet another casualty of the weekend reunion with the nature. Ripples form on the surface, linger for a second and disappear without a trace. She seems to be completely absorbed in her task. Who but humans are capable of so much meaningless activity!

I decide to join the game. My branch is long and sturdy; I reach out and poke her just below the skirt that incidentally reveals more than it hides. She yelps in surprise and jumps on her feet. "Jack? Charlie? Is that you?" But there's no one around, and she doesn't know yet that she will never see her friends again.

"Must be some loose branch," she concludes, almost correctly, and sits down. But I won't leave her in peace. This time I aim at her neck and slip a bunch of leaves into the cut of her blouse. She jumps up again, screaming "What the hell!" and tries to shake the harmless leaves out of her clothes as if they were venomous spiders. This is rather amusing. 

A raven flies out of the thicket, incessantly cawing. The old bird disapproves of my behavior. It's not the first time he witnesses what I do, and somehow he made up his mind that it's unfair to humans and he ought to warn them. Of course it's pointless - they never understand a word of what he's saying. Right now, he's shouting at the top of his lungs: "Run, run for your life!" But to her, it comes out as "Caw, caw, croak". So, no harm done. Still, I throw a pine cone at the raven, just to let him know that I don't appreciate the meddling. He emits a string of curses but obeys, disappearing in the tree crowns.

The girl is getting restless. Her eyes dart around, she straightens her clothes with shaking hands. Stepping over the bottles, plastic plates and assorted trash, she scurries off, apparently heading for the camp. Instead of the long trodden road along the lakeside, she takes a shortcut through the forest. Good choice! This way, I almost don't have to tweak the landscape. Spreading a few branches here and there to form an impenetrable fence, pushing a boulder forward to block the path, moving several blackberry bushes around to divert her attention and to throw off her sense of direction, and she's going exactly where I want. I don't mind her picking blackberries; after all, it's her last meal, why not allow her this little pleasure.

Eventually she realizes that she lost her way. She shouts for help; the only answer is howling of jackals in the distance. She panics, unaware that jackals are not a threat for a human, as they're small and would not attack anyone bigger than themselves, unless provoked. Nevertheless, they understand what's going on, and they're tagging along, expecting to get their prize when everything is over. She increases her pace, frantically rushing through the bushes, ignoring the thorny plants scratching her skin. But she's already close. I make it easier for her by parting the foliage at the end of the path, so she can see the light ahead. 

The clearing is dominated by a huge, gnarled oak tree growing in the center. As imperceptive as humans are, they still sense the aura of this place. The girl is not in a hurry anymore. She staggers across the carpet of lush grass, as if in trance, approaches the tree and presses her hand to the trunk. Her palm feels warm, soft and fragile. She looks straight at me, and I see a spark of understanding flaring in her eyes.

She gasps and yanks her hand back. But before she can take a step, my root springs up from the ground, tripping her. She tumbles down, falling on her belly. I release more roots to grab her body and pin it to the ground. She screams, spasmodically jerking her limbs, but my grip is unbreakable. These roots are strong enough to support my weight - against them, human limbs are no better than dry twigs. I push her head down and stuff her mouth with soil, just enough to keep her quiet without choking her.

One of my roots sneaks through her clothing and enters her vaginal opening. I prefer to deal with females, for the convenience of penetration. The insides envelop me with soft and moist warmth, like a muddy puddle on a sunny day. For my amusement, I withdraw the root and push it back in rhythmic motion, imitating the process of mammal sexual intercourse. She whimpers and tries to break free, but from her ragged breathing, involuntary pelvis movements and increased fluid secretion I notice she's getting aroused. A natural animal reaction, a simple instinct; where is their notorious intelligence and superiority? Why on Earth humans consider themselves so unique that they constantly turn against everything that sustains their life?

The thought angers me, as usual - but more importantly, I am thirsty. The game is over. I drop the pretense of gentleness and push further, through the uterus and into the abdomen, ripping the intestines apart and crashing the bones that get on the way. Hard wood easily pierces the flesh, letting the blood gush out of the numerous ruptures. It sinks into the soil and gets absorbed by dozens of my roots, from where my vascular system distributes it throughout the trunk and to all the cells. It's but a tiny drop, compared to the amount of liquid contained in a tree my size, but the effect is overwhelming. Fiery glowing energy fills my entire body, up to the highest branches, making my leaves tremble in ecstasy. My vision expands, I'm everywhere and everything, from distant mountains to ocean shores, I can sense and touch every single blade of grass in my realm. This feeling will fade soon, but it's exhilarating while it lasts, and it can be achieved only with human blood - perhaps that's why these otherwise worthless creatures have become so powerful. Such a waste. 

Her body enters into convulsions, unable to withstand the destruction of internal organs. Her heart keeps beating, pushing the rest of the blood through the torn arteries. I can only imagine how it must hurt. Perhaps it's the same kind of pain a tree feels while being chopped down; I have experienced that torture over and over again, countless times through the centuries, ever since being a green sapling and having established the connection with my forest. That's when I became addicted to human blood. 

One could call it a symbiosis.

Her heartbeat weakens, signifying that the end is near. I try to be patient and to postpone the most exciting moment, but time is running out. I make my way into the thorax, past the ribcage and towards the cardiac muscle. Perhaps it's only my imagination, but blood from inside the heart tastes the best - thick and spicy, akin to a nutrient-rich soil. Humans believe that the heart is the location of the soul. I have never seen any evidence of them possessing souls. And when the hunk of flesh ceases pulsating, that's it - a human corpse is no different from any other dead animal.

I withdraw my roots from the still-warm leftovers of my meal. I took what I needed; now it's jackals' turn. They rush into the glade, barking with joy, and start their own little feast. I watch their short golden fur gleaming under the sun, the strong healthy jaws tearing out chunks of meat and gnawing the bones - a peaceful, harmonious scene. That's what a picnic on the nature is supposed to be.

It's not such a bad day, after all.


End file.
